


Warrior Queens

by PseudoMon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Almyra, Big plot beyond the game, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Not really a shipfic but Claude's definitely marrying Ingrid, Original Characters - Freeform, Post-Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-01-21 01:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoMon/pseuds/PseudoMon
Summary: After the war in Fodlan is over, Claude decides to bring Ingrid back to his homeland, to ask his parents for their blessing and to get married in the land of his birth. He know it will be a shock for her to find out who he really is, but the plans he has made won't prepare them for what else they will find there.At least he has his best friend and ultimate wingman to support them both.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	1. Journeying East

"Oh my Goddess, Claude."

"Hey, keep it down, Hilda."

"Oh. My. Goddess."

"Okay, calm down."

"In all this time? _Clauuude._"

"Yeah, okay, okay. You can see why I keep it under wraps, right?

"Your dad. The guy you keep telling me about. The guy who's all wild and eccentric and tied you to a horse and all. He's the _King of Almyra_?"

"Sshhhh."

Claude glanced about, visibly nervous for the first time in a long while. The two of them were in one of the quiet, empty corner of the monastery building, somewhere he was sure no one will hear them. He'd drag Hilda there after she overheard his conversation with Nader.

He looked around, making sure they were really alone, before turning back to Hilda. "Okay. Yes. My dad's the King of Almyra. Can you keep it a secret, Hilda?"

"Sure, but wow! You've been keeping that all this time?" Hilda whispered excitedly. "I know you're Almyran. I think we've all figured that one out. You weren't being very subtle about it, you know. But that you're _crown prince_..."

Even exasperated, he winked at her. "It's one of my schemes. Give the people something to uncover and they won't try to dig any deeper." His face returned to being serious. "But for real, Hilda. Can you keep a secret?"

Hilda winked back. "You can trust me, Mr. Crown Prince man, but how long are you going to keep it under wraps? I thought you're going to be Leader Man of Fodlan or something, but if I heard you right, your father wants you back in Almyra?"

"Hey, the war's over. Teach said she's going to take up leadership in the new United Kingdom, and the lords of the territories seem more eager on having her on the throne than me. Fodlan is in good hands."

"Oh, okay, well. But what are you going to tell the others?" Something popped in Hilda's head and she gasped dramatically. "And what about _Ingrid_? Aren't you two a thing now? Does she know?"

"Ah, well. Yes about that." Claude thought about it for a second. "Actually, I'm hoping you can help me with that."

"Ooh! Roping me into one of your schemes? Do tell."

"It's not really a scheme. I just think she might need someone to be there when she finds out." He paused. "I think _I_ need someone to be there when she finds out."

* * *

"Hilda, are you sure these make-up is necessary?" Ingrid asked as Hilda was braiding the back of her hair. They were getting ready to start the journey. The long journey, according to Claude. They were going to where his parents were to ask them for their blessing. Claude wouldn't say where that was, exactly. Only that it would take a couple days of flight.

"It's not like we're going to meet his parents right away," Ingrid added. "We'll probably stop the night somewhere. This make-up won't last that long."

"Aww, don't be like that," Hilda said. "It's just some light touch-up. Don't you want to look nice in front of Claude?"

"W-well. Yes," Ingrid stammered. "But I... I don't think he'll notice, honestly."

"Oh, he does, Ingrid! He's just not good at being honest about it. And besides, just think of it as practice. You'll want to make a good impression on his parents, right?"

"Of course! But will _they_ notice? I really have no idea what to expect." Ingrid was lost in thought for a second. "Hilda, have you ever met Claude's parents?"

"Nope! He told me about them a lot, though. What was it he said...? His dad is someone real extravagant, and his mom is like a, what was it, a warrior queen."

"Oh, really? That's doesn't sound like someone who'll pay attention to make-ups."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt! Trust me, the best thing you can do when meeting someone you've never met before is to look your absolute best. You can adjust that later, if you like."

"Alright, Hilda. I'll trust you." Ingrid looked at herself in the mirror. She did look somewhat better than she usually were. Brighter, less stiff, though she wasn't sure if it was the make-up or the idea of flying out of here with Claude. Her father had wanted her to be dainty and demure, while Claude was more than happy to have her with sword in hand.

"His mother's a warrior queen, huh?" Ingrid said, more to herself than to Hilda. "I like the sound of that."

* * *

They travelled light: Claude on his white wyvern, Ingrid on her pegasus, Hilda on her common wyvern, each of them carrying just enough provisions for two nights of travel. Ingrid had asked Claude if he didn't need some more company. It wasn't like they were riding into battle, but she felt it too dangerous for a duke to travel without his knights. As if they were tempting fate.

"Trust me, it'll be better this way," Claude had answered, then added with a smile, "Besides, with the two of you, we're stronger than any batallions of knights put together."

It took a full day for them to fly from Garreg Mach to the mountains of Fodlan's Throat. By the time they reached its jagged peaks, the sun had dipped below its tallest edge, the mountain casting their tall shadow on them. Ingrid had thought that they were going to spend the night there, perhaps in the fortress of Fodlan's Locket further north, but instead Claude had pressed on.

"Claude, do you know where we're going?" Ingrid asked.

Claude grinned. "It's been a while, but I still know the way like the back of my hand."

And he certainly seemed to. He led them through the narrow maze-like ridges of the Throat, places that would be completely inaccessible if they were riding on horses or if their party was much larger. Even as the light started to dwindle, and all they had to work on was the full moon and the stars above, his white wyvern still flew on with confidence.

"So, Claude," Ingrid started, as he was leading them further and further into the Throat, away from Fodlan and everything she had ever known. "Don't you think it's about time that you tell me that you were born in Almyra?"

Claude laughed. He glanced at her and gave her another one of his winks. "Oooh, haven't I told you? I'm actually the estranged son of the king of Almyra!"

"Hah! You're going to have to do better than that to fool me!"

From behind, she could hear Hilda joining in their laughter.

Ingrid had lost count of how many turns they had made or how long they had been wedged between the mountains. One moment there was nothing but rocks and the occasional vegetation around them, and then all of a sudden, the mountains fell away. Laid out in front of them was the greenest, most open field Ingrid had ever seen before. Even in the dark of the night, she could see the grasses swaying in the wind, forming shades of colour that rolled up and down again. The field stretched far away without any civilization in sight, only wild animals in the distance.

"Welcome, ladies!" Claude called out. "This is my homeland, Almyra!"

Almyra, the land of savage beasts, or so they say. Ingrid couldn't say she was surprised that Claude was Almyran all along---he wasn't being very subtle about it---but she always had trouble trying to fit what she'd heard of those people and Claude himself. Sure, he was a tricky one. He would resort to unconventional tactics to achieve his end, but he was also clever, honest, and respectable. He has noble ideas but he was realistic in considering what he had to do to realise that. All the traits opposite to what a savage would have, and all the traits that made Ingrid fell for him in the first place.

But having finally reached this place, his homeland, with the verdant field spread out underneath them, Ingrid found it easier to dismiss the notion that Almyrans were savages. Surely no one who'd seen such sights could be anything but civilized.

"Oh wow!" Hilda exclaimed. She seemed just as enamored as Ingrid was. "I've never been this side of the Throat before. It's strangely beautiful here."

"Isn't it?" Claude said. "Come on. Let's find someplace to camp for the night."

* * *

They soon found a clearing in the middle of the open field. The way the grass had thinned indicated that it was a stopping point for far more travellers before them. It didn't take long for them to light the leftover fireplace back up and set up their camp. Ingrid and Hilda used the fireplace to cook dinner together as Claude took care of their mount, although it wasn't long for Hilda to notice she was, for once, the one person focused on her task.

"Aww, Ingrid. I know that look on your face," she said.

"Wha-what look?"

"You want to go talk to Claude, right? Nagging questions in your mind?" Hilda grinned. "This soup shouldn't take too long to stew. You should go to him. Make him spill some beans."

Ingrid quickly muttered out her gratitude and made her way to him.

He was petting his wyvern and looking up at the stars above. He turned to her as she approached, and gave her one of those smiles of his, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ingrid! I hope you're doing well after that journey?"

"I'm fine, Claude, though I was rather surprised that you decided to take us all the way past the Throat," she said. "So, Claude. You _were_ born in Almywa, then?"

He winked at her and said half-mockingly, "Why, Ingrid. Surely, you must have figured it out! I think very highly of your superior intellect, you know."

She pinched him. "Well, you sure weren't being very subtle about it!"

He laughed, then continued, more abashed this time, "I mean, I trust that you'll be able to figure it out. I wasn't trying to- Well, I _was_ trying to hide it, but not from you, or our closest friends."

Ingrid nodded. "I can see why you couldn't say it out loud. You were the heir and then leader of the Alliance. And not everyone in the Alliance leadership, let alone the entirety of Fodlan, looked kindly at Almyrans."

"Aha, I noticed your use of past tense! It's good to see my efforts recognized."

"I noticed! You did a good job convincing them to accept help from Almyrans. And I'm sure no one has forgotten that little scheme you pulled in Fort Marceus, or how you got General Holst and Nader the Undefeated to become friends, right in the middle of a war at that!"

"They already are friends! We have a saying here, 'An opponent you meet once is an enemy, but an opponent you've met a hundred times is your brother'. I just make them realise that." He looked ahead to the vast plains spread before them, away from the mountains behind. "I hope I can make everyone realise that."

"Hey, sorry to interrupt!" Hilda tapped on Ingrid's shoulder. "Dinner's ready, and they're going to get cold real fast if you don't eat it. And did I just hear you talk about my brother?"

"Ah, thanks, Hilda," Claude said. "It's nothing. Just how General Holst is a good friend with my old training instructor."

"Nader was your training instructor?" Ingrid asked incredulously. "Isn't he a famous warlord? Claude von Riegan, who are you, really?"

Claude only winked at her. "You're going to have to wait until the end of our trip to figure that out."

"Hmph!"

"Well, Claude. It won't hurt to at least tell us a bit more about Almyra, right?" Hilda asked. "Like, what do people here usually wear? What's the fashion's like? You know I've always noticed that the sash you're always wearing isn't very Fodlanese."

Ingrid added in, "And what do people usually eat here? Almyra isn't as cold as Faerghus, right? Do you have less warm food? Is the meals any different?"

"Oh, to be drilled with questions by the two strongest ladies in Fodlan!" Claude laughed. "Well, ladies, if you care to listen, I have many tales of Almyra I can regale you with."

Dinnertime was spent with tales and laughters, as Claude spun out stories to impress the girls. Almyrans are warrior people who take pride in their strength and cunning, but there was a strong culture of arts and craft, of weaving fabric in more colours than ever seen in Fodlan, of spices never before tasted by their Western neighbors. Claude told them of the feasts and festivals he'd joined in as a kid, of the dance and the music and the fights he inevitably got himself into. Ingrid had never heard of such colourful revelries before, and never in so many as words as Claude deftly weaved for them.

By the end they were full, tired, and dreaming of what they might see at the end of their journey. Hilda was the first to fall asleep, while Ingrid and Claude lay down on their bedrolls to watch the stars above.

"Claude?" Ingrid started, after a couple minutes of silence. "I don't really want to assume, but it seems you really did have a good childhood in Almyra."

It took a second for Claude to answer. "Honestly? It didn't feel like it at the time, but thinking back on it, I really am grateful for what I had."

Ingrid was surprised to hear that, after so many of his colourful descriptions of his childhood. "Why? Were you unhappy?"

"Well, it's like… There's a reason I never talk about my Almyran past in Fodlan. A couple of reasons. One of the reasons was political, yes, but..."

Ingrid glanced at Claude. He seemed lost in thought, staring up at the sky. "What is it?"

"Well. Everyone in Almyra already know my mother is Fodlanese, and they kind of treat me like dirt for it. When I came to Fodlan, to the academy, it actually felt kind of good to not be immediately thought of as an outsider, you know?"

Ingrid thought back to their time at the academy, six years ago now. Claude's careless, eccentric behaviour was uncharacteristic of a house leader, and he never seemed to mind what other people think of it. "But you still felt like an outsider, didn't you? You were still Almyran even then."

Claude didn't answer for a while. "It's who I am. I'm as much Almyran as I am Fodlanese, and no one can take that away from me," he finally said. "But, you know. Fodlanese. Almyran. It doesn't matter, at the end. People are people everywhere."

"I don't know, Claude. After hearing your stories, it feels like Almyrans, your people, live a very different life from us at Fodlan."

"I suppose so, yeah. A lot of things are different." He turned to face her. "But you'll see, deep down, we're not different at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading so far! This is the first chapter of something I've been working on for the last couple of weeks. I've already written a couple of chapters ahead, so I can try to be consistent in updating this.
> 
> I try not to make assumptions of what happened during the events of the game and to not spoil anything from there. It's based on the Golden Deer ending, but if you want to imagine some alternate route that mix the endings together, that should work too. Most of the plot here is going to be in Almyra, beyond the canon of the game. I hope you're willing to go on this journey with me!


	2. Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude, Ingrid, and Hilda finally arrived at their destination and met the people they came all this way for.

Ingrid was awakened at dawn by a flock of wyverns flying overhead. At first she thought they were wild wyverns, even though she'd read somewhere that wyverns don't usually flock together. Then she squinted her eyes and focused and realised that there were people riding on them. Their harnesses were so small and rudimentary they were barely visible on the wyverns' dark scales. Some of them weren't even using saddles at all.

They circled overheard, getting closer and closer until Claude's white wyvern rose and growled at them. Then they scattered away, as if scared off.

"Are those wyvern riders?" Ingrid asked as she got up. Hilda was still fast asleep, but Claude was already up and had his bedroll tucked away.

"Just some kids having a little fun, I think," Claude said. He was petting his white wyvern, calming it down. "They won't bother us as long as Mahamut here is with us."

Ingrid looked up warily, but the riders seemed to have lost interest and flown off. "Why? Will they bother us otherwise?"

Claude laughed. "They might pick a fight or two. Something of a sport for young riders to tease travellers on the plains." He pat his wyvern again. It let out a burst of steam from its nostrils. "But they know not to mess with someone bigger than they are."

Ingrid reached out her hand to the wyvern. Mahamut, Claude had named it. It recoiled at her touch, at first, but then Claude put his hand on hers and with them together, the wyvern did not seem to mind it as much. Its scale was hard and cold, but as it got used to her touch, Ingrid could almost feel something warm underneath, almost as warm as the hand that was holding hers.

"White wyverns aren't very common, are they?"

Claude smiled, conspirationally. "They're not. They're hard to find and even harder to tame."

_And yet,_ Ingrid thought, _one day you just waltzed into the monastery with one, as if you've had it these whole time._ "Claude von Riegan, who are you really?"

Claude only laughed in response.

* * *

It only took them a few minutes to pack up, although it took another minute for Hilda to apply her quick make-up to herself and then on Ingrid.

"Is this really necessary, Hilda?" Ingrid has asked.

"Just give me a moment." Hilda applied the last of her powder, then she turned Ingrid around to face her boyfriend. "Hey, Claude! What do you think about how's Ingrid's looking now?"

"Hilda!"

Claude glanced away from his wyvern to look at them. He looked flustered for exactly half a second, then shouted, "Ingrid, you're more radiant than the morning sun, lovelier than all the flowers of the world!"

Ingrid wanted to give him a punch again, followed by a hug and perhaps a kiss.

They were soon up in the air again, the beating of the wyvern wings ruffling the grass underneath. Ingrid flew her pegasus closer to Claude, close enough to see the expression in his face. He looked different here, somehow. More serene than she'd seen him before. He was closing his eyes, enjoying the wind caressing his cheek, letting his wyvern lead the way.

"Claude, you do know where we are going, right?" Ingrid asked.

He opened his eyes and smiled. "It's been years since I was last here, but I still remember everything as if I've never left."

They flew past a couple of settlements on their way to wherever it was Claude's parents were. Most of the villages on the plains were small, consisting of thatched huts and tents around a public square, but they also passed one decently-sized town nestled betwen hills. People milled about its stone streets, and children ran between the strange, square-shaped buildings. The architecture was rudimentary compared to the grand castles of Faerghus, but Ingrid noticed that each town and village was decorated with elaborate, colourful paint and clothes. Each one of them has horses and wyverns stabled, trotting, or flying wild around them.

Claude made a little show when they passed the larger town. He swooped down until he was close enough to touch the towering minaret at the centre of the town, then circled back up, the beating of his wyvern's wing causing the cloths attached to it to shutter and fly. Ingrid could see children laughing at the show, pointing and shouting at the theatrics. Some of the more observant ones looked up and pointed at her, the sole pegasus in the group.

"I see there's a lot of wyverns in Almyra," Ingrid said to Claude as they made their way forward. "A lot of horses too, but I haven't seen a single pegasus."

"Huh. I never really thought about that," Claude said. "I read somewhere that wyverns in Fodlan came from Almyra, originally. It's why you don't see a lot of them further northwest. We have a lot of horses here, but I don't think I've ever seen a pegasus until I came to Fodlan. Different places, different beasts, it seems."

Ingrid reached out her hand to pet her pegasus's nose. "You hear that, Daphne? You're one of a kind now."

As the sun climbed higher and higher and then dipped down towards the horizon, Claude led the two ladies further and further into what seemed to be the heart of Almyra. They passed by more cities, with larger and more elaborate buildings. They passed by less wild plains and more of civilizations.

When the sun was setting down and darkness started to cover the sky, Claude began to descend. Below them was the largest city Ingrid had seen in Almyra, almost rivalling Enbarr. Colourful, silk clothes billowed in the wind, strung in patterns between the many rectangular buildings. Rivers flowed in the well-structured canals that circled around the city. Above each buildings were like buildings of their own, each connectd with small bridges populated with children and wyverns, almost like a second street above the one on the ground. They waved and pointed as they flew above them.

Claude passed by all that and led them straight to the center of the city: a grand palace with a large, domed roof. On its massive courtyard, soldiers in Almyran garbs moved their horses out of the way as they saluted at the great white wyvern. The deference in their gesture was unmistakable.

"Claude!" Ingrid called out. "Are you what I think you are?"

Claude only grinned, but from behind them Hilda yelled, "Heck yeah he's who you think he is!" Then she added after a thought, "Ooh wait, are we going to meet them now? I hope Ingrid's make-up hasn't faded out yet."

They touched down on the courtyard. Claude's wyvern bellowed, as if announcing its presence to the palace. Ingrid's pegasus trotted down next to it, and Hilda's wyvern behind them. They dismounted at the exact moment that the palace door's opened.

Out of the door walked a man garbed in luxurious embroidered clothes with an even more luxurious gait. On his head was a patterned cloth folded to resemble a dome, decorated and set in such a way that despite looking like nothing of its kind in Fodlan, even Ingrid could tell was a crown. His hair was hidden underneath it, but his large beard was greying of old age. The man smiled, and Ingrid could immediately see the family resemblance.

"Claude, kiddo! It's good to see you home at last!"

"Long time no see, Abah," Claude replied before he was engulfed in the man's enormous hug.

"It really has been a long time! We have heard of what happened in Fodlan, of what you have accomplished! I am very proud of you, son."

For a split-second, Claude seemed to be taken aback, but he recovered quickly, "Thank you, Abah. It's not often that you say that."

"Well. But I really am proud of you. And grateful! But never mind that for now." He turned to Ingrid and Hilda, beaming a playful smile that was already familiar to them both. "Who are your lovely companions? Please, introduce us!"

"Right! Ingrid, Hilda, this is my father, Shahanshah Roshan Kamir, the king of Almyra. Abah, this is my best friend, Hilda Valentine Goneril, and," Claude put his hand around Ingrid's shoulder, "this is my most beloved, Ingrid Brandl Galatea."

Ingrid couldn't help blushing at the words he used. _My most beloved_. It made her heart aflutter, almost distracting her from what he had said before, _King of Almyra_. "It- it's very nice to meet you, Your Highness!" she mustered a bow.

"Ah, such elegance, this! But, please, no need for formalities. We're all going to be family, are we not?"

Hilda pulled out one of her smiles and said, "It's very nice to finally meet you, Sir! Claude has told me so much about you!"

The king laughed. "Has he? I hope he leave you a good impression of me! Though, I'm afraid I can't say the same about you. Claude hasn't bothered to send me a single letter for all the time he spent in your country."

"Don't be silly, Abah. I sent you plenty."

"But they're always Alliance business this and partnership business that. Politics! You know how I despise that." His expression changed for just a second. "Ah, but I'm afraid politics is what I have to burden you from now on. I hope you'll forgive me, son."

Claude seemed like he was about to say something, but then the king clapped his hand together and turned to the palace's open door. "Well, let's not just stand around here! Come! You must be tired, yes? We've prepared a feast just for you."

Hilda went after the king right away, as if enticed by the very idea of having a good rest and a meal, finally. She began talking with the king, and the two had an animated chat while Ingrid still stood back with her pegasus, too bewildered to make her move.

Claude put his hand in hers. "I guess you know who I am now," he said, softly.

"Claude! How-!" She lightly punched his arm with her other hand, then hugged it. "You're a prince. A prince of Almyra! This whole time, I've thought you as some kind of wayward noble, but you've been a prince all along!"

He smiled. "Ah, in these parts, being a prince isn't actually worth much. Not a prince like me. And in Fodlan, being a prince of Almyra was worth even less."

"Still!" Ingrid thought back. The only prince she had ever known was Dimitri, His Highness. She's learned early on to respect him as her future sovereign, as all knights should, and he responded with the grace of one. But, Claude? She respected him, yes, but in a very different way. "You're a prince, but I've never treated you like one, have I?"

Claude laughed and kissed her cheek. "I don't want you to treat me like a prince just because I am one, Ingrid. I'd rather you treat me as _me_, regardless of who I was born to."

* * *

The Almyran Royal Palace was nothing like the majestic Castle of Fhirdiad, or the massive looming rooms of the Imperial Palace in Enbarr. In many ways, it was simpler. The rooms were smaller, the architecture less designed to induce awe. But there were silk and gold-lined tapestries hung around its walls, unlike anything she'd seen before, and the round arches that separated the rooms were meticulously carved. On the tapestries and carvings she could see what could be words, but written in swirling letters that was unfamiliar to her. The difference was bewildering, in a way, but she had Claude's arm to hold on to, and he was all the comfort she needed.

The king led them past the grand entrance hall to the dining room at the back of the palace. One of its walls was open to the garden, its strange trees and flowers lit by torches and moonlight. The dining table itself was filled with a familiar feast: roasted meat, bread and soup, though there seemed to be a greater selection of spices and condiments. Claude had told them last night of how Almyrans held hunters in high regards, but it was always the spice-makers who brought life to the party.

The king laughed at something Hilda said before sitting down at the head of the table. "Please, please. Sit. Help yourself. I suppose you must have missed our food, have you, son?"

"Not as much as you might think, Abah," Claude said. "Food in Fodlan isn't as bland as Mother made it out to be."

It wasn't too different than what Ingrid was used to eating---it was in fact a bit thrilling to be able to taste something new---but it didn't quite help her get used to the situation. Hilda seemed to warm up instantly to Claude's father, laughing and speaking freely of her and Claude's time way back in the academy. The king laughed and replied with amusing bits from Claude's childhood. Ingrid only managed to catch parts of it: the time he poisoned his instructor and gave him a stomachache for days, the time he came back with three baby wyverns in his arms, the time he got left behind by the horse he was supposed to ride home.

"Oh, are we just trading gossips about me now?" Claude asked.

"Forgive me, son!" the king said amidst his laughter. "It's been a while since I can talk about you to, well, anyone!" He turned to Ingrid, who was experimenting with the different kinds of spices on her beef. "You've been quiet, Miss... Ingrid? I haven't frightened you, have I?"

"Oh, no, not at all, Your Highness!" She put the spice bottle down, slightly embarrassed. "I'm simply... appreciating the food. It really is different from what we're used to in Fodlan."

"A-ha! Someone with good taste! You've found yourself a fine lady, boy."

"Oh thank goodness. I was sooo worried we can't get married if she can't appreciate your home cooking," Claude said with heavy sarcasm.

"Oh, are these your own cooking, Your Highness?" Ingrid asked, taken aback.

"Most of it, yes. Though I have to train the servants too as I did it, since _this boy_," he gestured at his Claude, who was pretending not to hear, "have terrible taste. Otherwise, who knows what will be served here after he's crowned and I'm gone."

_Crowned_, the word repeated itself in Ingrid's mind. Not just a prince, but a crown prince, at that. If Claude is going to be king, and they were going to be married, would she be queen? Of _Almyra_?

"Oh, shut up. Our boy's taste is perfectly good," a voice called out from the back door. It was a deep, commanding voice, although unmistakably feminine.

The woman who walked in was unmistakably Fodlanese, though her expression was as wild as Almyran wyverns. Her skin was light, her eyes dark green, her hair the colour of chestnut, short but for a braid that runs across her shoulder. She was tall, muscular, her face lined with cut and bruises and slight aging line, but still beautiful. She had a bow and an axe strapped to her back, which she easily took off and handed to the gruff-faced servant who had accompanied her into the room.

"I see you made it, boy," she said to Claude, who was beaming a nervous smile.

"Mother! I'm glad _you_ could make it."

She scrutinized the other guests on the table. Ingrid could felt something crawling up her skin as she looked at her, a small taste of primal fear. The woman turned to Hilda and, after a pause, said, "Ah, I know you. You're the younger Goneril kid, are you?"

Hilda pulled out one of her charming smile. "Hi, umm, Mrs. von Riegan? Have we met?"

"I visited when you were a baby. Got into a fistfight with your grandfather. Don't think he's too fond of me. What's your name, dear?"

"It's Hilda, ma'am."

"Hilda. Right." She turned to Ingrid. "But I don't think I've seen _you_ before. What's your name, lass?"

Ingrid was suddenly very much aware of the make-up Hilda had popped onto her earlier that day. It felt like too thin a mask in the face of such sharp gaze. "My name is Ingrid Brandl Galatea, ma'am," she said, proudly. Would she care that she was noble? Would she notice? _Warrior queen_, Hilda had said about her.

Fortunately, the king quickly defrosted the situation. "Oh, put that scowl down and come eat with us, dear," the king said. "I'm sure you're famished after such a long hunt."

The woman walked over, casually kissed the king, then took the seat next to him. She picked out food out from the main plate to her own and began to wolf them down as the king introduced her.

"Ladies, this is the love of my life, Ivalyn von Riegan. Please, excuse her, I don't think she's eaten my cooking for… how long was your trip, dear?"

"About three nights? And don't be silly. I can cook my own meal, you know."

"How was your trip, Mother?" Claude asked, casually, as the meal resumed.

"Oh, the usual. A bit of hunting and a bit of giving the local warlords what they deserved."

"Oh? How many did you beat up this time?"

"Three or four? Do you know impudent they can be just because I'm starting to look old? At least one of their lordlings was more interested in actually _sparring_ and getting better instead of just airing their ego..."

Their conversation went on for a bit. Casual small talk about the both the hunt and what seemed to be the politics of the land. Ingrid managed to catch bits and pieces of it, even with her near non-existent knowledge of the kingdom. There were warlords scattered across Almyra, like the nobility of Fodlan, but, if the queen was to be believed, with the temperaments of of knights and warriors instead of the sheltered, bickering, backhanded lords of her homeland. It impressed her how casually Claude was conversing, despite the fact that he must not have met his mother in years, having being busy with the war in Fodlan. Ingrid found that a bit comforting. He can make any place feel like home.

"So anyway," the queen started as she wiped the last of her meal from her lips. "Which one of you are marrying my son?"

Ingrid nearly choked at hearing the question, but she regained her composure quickly, much more quickly that Claude seemed to be managing while he was drinking. She was ready for this. She put her fork down and declared with confidence, "I am!"

From the other side of the table, Hilda gave her two thumbs up.

The queen gave her a long, scrutinizing look. It reminded Ingrid, somehow, of a wolf glaring at its prey. A hair stood up at the back of her neck, but she kept her gaze.

And then the queen laughed. "Yes, I like this one!"

"Mother, please..." Claude said, somewhat embarrassed, but she ignored him.

"What did you say your name was, dear? Ingrid of Galatea? Where was that again?"

"It's in Faerghus, ma'am. Northwestern Fodlan."

She nodded. "Ah, yes. Bit cold up there, isn't it? Might take a while for you to get used to Almyra. The weather's a lot warmer here." She turned to her son. "The two of you _are_ going to stay, right?"

Were they? Claude had never really talked to her about it. Claude had never really talked to her about _anything_. She had just assumed that he was going to take her all over the world since he was leaving the leadership of Fodlan to their friends. She never guessed that he would just be a king of another country.

Claude gave her an apologetic look for a split-second, just long enough to assure her than they would talk about this later, before turning back to his mother. "We might. But first I want you to tell me about Azhar."

The queen turned to her husband. "You haven't _told_ him?"

"Oh, dear. I just, I don't know how to bring it up nicely. I don't want to spoil the mood, and it is rather late and they've had a long journey..."

"_Excuses_. He's his _brother_, and there's the _entire_ kingdom on the line. The two of you need to stop dancing around every issues and just _get to the point_."

"Wait, wait, wait," Hilda spoke up. "Who's... Azhar?"

The queen looked like she was going to berate her husband some more, but then Claude spoke up, "Azhar was my brother. My half-brother. He was the crown prince of Almyra but… but he died last week. That's what Nader came to tell me, even though he couldn't tell me how he died. It's why we had to go to Almyra on such a short notice." He turned to Ingrid. "I'm sorry I haven't talked to you about him. Or about any of this."

There was silence at the table for a while, a silence that was like a volcano about to erupt. And then there was a deep sigh like a mountain letting loose, and Ivalyn von Riegan, Queen of Almyra, began to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not a lot we know about Almyra from the game (Claude hardly ever talks about his homeland), so I had to spin up a lot for this. This Almyra is mostly based on historical Persian and Turkish/Ottoman Empires, with, if you'll forgive me, a bit of Southeast Asian thrown in, since I'm Southeast Asian and that's what's familiar to me. I might have done a bit more research than I should for a silly fanfic, but it's been good fun writing this.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the story so far!


	3. Honest Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both the Queen and Claude has a story to tell.

"Your brother, Azhar, died in a battle with one of the Eastern Warlords, a Lord Marduk," said the Queen. She turned to Claude. "You've met him once. He tried to kill you when you were ten. We laughed it off as a joke at the time, but I knew better."

Claude looked thoughtful for a second. "I remember."

"We never really minded his little rebellions. Little rebellions are dime in a dozen in Almyra." She turned to Ingrid and Hilda. "Don't worry too much about it, dears. It's a lot more mundane than it sounds." She continued, "This Lord Marduk, I kicked his ass about a dozen times, just enough to put him in his place. He wasn't as popular with the other lords as he might like to think.

"But recently, we heard that he's been forming alliances with the Khans of the Southern Plains. You know those people, the wild nomads who terrorizes the border between Morfis and Almyra, bowing neither to the Shah nor the Warlock-Council of Morfis. They were a constant goddamn nuisance on our plate.

"We didn't expect that Lord Marduk would be so close to them, or that an alliance was even possible. Azhar was close by when he heard the news, while in the meantime, your father and I were sitting on our asses in the palace, entertaining the local lords!"

The king sighed. "It was an important meeting, love. And we couldn't have known."

The queen went on, "Azhar, bless his heart, he knew he had to deal with Marduk's litle scheme before it explode into all-out rebellion, but I had a feeling… he had a tendency to overestimate himself."

The queen stopped for a moment. Something passed on her face. Sadness, perhaps, though she wiped it away quickly.

"They fought. They killed him. And then," the Queen's fist tightened and slammed on the table. "The _bastard_ tried to send his head here. He threatened that he would break Almyra, declaring that it now has no legitimate heir. Hah! _As if!_"

She turned to Claude, fire in her eyes. "You're your father's son. You're _my_ son. If you can unite those squabbling nobles of Fodlan, you can unite the selfish lords of Almyra. _Prove him wrong._"

* * *

It's a lot to take in, and Ingrid wasn't sure where to even begin to think. Both the King and Queen seemed to realised that. They let dinnertime end more quietly, then they gave the servants instructions to show them to their rooms and where they could take a bath. Ingrid happily let the servants---who all looked vaguely like Cyril that she couldn't tell them apart yet---showed her around the palace, then she took the opportunity to wash herself in the bathing room.

The water was cold, but it was just how she liked them after a such a long journey. When she looked at herself in the mirror afterwards, she noticed that the makeup Hilda had put on her face this morning was gone. Did Claude's parents notice them? They seemed to like her, and losing the makeup made her feel just a tiny bit more insecure.

Refreshed, she left her room and went looking for Claude and Hilda. It took asking a couple of servants to find her way to one of the palace's garden terrace on the second floor. She heard their voices before she could see them, hidden behind the many potted ferns and leaning on the balcony overlooking the palace's backyard.

"So he was actually there to tell you your brother died?" Hilda was saying. "I'm... really sorry, Claude. The way I confronted you about it, that was so insensitive of me."

"That's alright, Hilda. You didn't know, and it really didn't sound so serious at the time."

Hilda seemed to have freshened up herself, with her long pink hair down and her makeup cleaned out. Claude, however, didn't seem like he had washed up at all. His outfit still had the wear and tear from their journey and his eyes seemed tired. He smiled when he saw Ingrid, but it was the sort of smile that does not reach his eyes.

"Ingrid! How are you?" He said, coming up to her and holding her hand. "I know I owe you a lot of explanations."

Ingrid nodded, not sure how to respond to that. Yes, there was a lot of explanations to be had, but she's always trusted him to come through for them, even with all his secrets.

She let him led her to the edge of the balcony, where they could see the entirety of the palace's backyard spread before them. There was what could be the knight's quarters, a small building detached from the main palace. Next to it was a stable that towered over everything else, the open walls on its higher floor showing sleeping wyverns. Beyond the backyard, she could see the city, dark but for a few torches here and there. Above, the stars and the moon shone brightly.

There was silence for a while. Ingrid glanced at Hilda, who gave her an encouraging smile, then took a deep breath. "So, Claude. That was your parents. The King and Queen of Almyra."

Claude nodded. "Yep. That was my parents."

"And Almyra is going to be, what, at war? Because there are people against you taking up the throne?"

"Nah, we're not going to be at war. Trust me, it'll take a lot more than one rebel warlord to put this kingdom into chaos. Almyra is, Almyra is firmer than that." He paused. Looking out the balcony, he whispered more to himself, "_I am going to take up the throne, though._"

Ingrid looked at where his eyes were going to. The city, spread out in all direction. "And, this is your hometown, the capital of Almyra. What is it called?"

"Ah, yes. This is the City of Akhamenid. Largest city this side of the Throat," Claude answered. He thought about it for a moment, then said, "Truth be told? I never really thought of it as a hometown."

"How come?"

"My parents, well, they kind of take me all over the place. Sometimes they're the one who do it, sometimes they had Nader do it for them. I get to spend a lot of time out in the field, and not a lot of time here in the city." He paused and took a moment to look up at the stars. "Honestly? I think they were afraid of what will happen if I stay in one place too long. What people might do to me, or what I might do to them."

There was another pause as he seemed to be lost in thought for a bit. Ingrid wasn't sure if she should wait or if she should prompt him for more, but then Hilda said out loud what's already on both their mind, "Well, that's too ominous to just leave it at that, Claude! Explain."

"Right! How should I put this…" He looked out at the city for one second, then balled his fist and turned to them. "The people of Akhamenid, well, of Almyra, really, didn't approve much of my mother. Not at first. You know how people in Fodlan used to think of Almyrans as savage brutes? Well, Almyrans think Fodlanese are weak and cowards. They didn't think my father is fit to marry one, they didn't think me fit as a prince.

"They didn't really have to. My father already had a son, Azhar. His mother was Almyran, though I heard she died shortly after he was born. He was the one everyone treated as the crown prince, while I was just the one who's not supposed to be here. I… well, I told you about this last night," Claude said to Ingrid. "They treat me like no better than a sack of dirt. I got beat up a lot, as a kid. My parents didn't do much to stop them. Instead, they just kind of pushed me to take care of my own problem."

He paused. He looked up at the stars again, as if trying to find answers in them. "No. No that's not entirely true. My mother worked tooth and nail to get the Almyrans to accept her. She personally led the army to fight the Southern Khans a number of times. She met all the scattered lords and made them understand her, and they did, most of them. Although even today she still have to go out there and show her might.

"All those travelling, I guess it was a way for my parents to show me the entire country, to meet as many people as possible, to get them to understand me, to get _me_ to understand them. A lot of people hate me at first sight, but I learned to make my friends. I didn't…. I wasn't very happy with the entirety of that, but I met some good people."

He shrugged. "Before I learned about my mother's family, myself being the heir to House Riegan and all that, I thought I was just going to wander the country forever, the unwanted prince. I wasn't going to inherit anything, much less the throne." He sighed. "Well, I am now, now that Azhar is gone."

He turned to Ingrid and Hilda and smiled, one of his signature smile that wasn't entirely truthful. "So that's my life story. Sorry, if that's a bit much."

There was quiet for a while. The wind rustled the leaves, bugs chirping in the background. Then Hilda broke the silence with a loud yawn. It wasn't one of her theatrical yawn, but it was loud nonetheless.

"Hilda!" Ingrid chastened, but Claude laughed, a genuine laugh.

"Oh man, I'm boring you with my story, huh?"

"What? No no no." Hilda laughed with him. "Nooo. I'm sorry, Claude. I didn't mean that. I was just tired, honest. My delicate body is catching up with me." She smiled sadly. "But really, Claude? Thanks for telling us all of that. I know you don't like talking about your past."

"Eh. It's not all bad. It's just, well, it's the life I had."

Hilda looked out at the courtyard, and then to the city beyond. "Since you haven't been to the city much when you were little, maybe we can get ourselves familiar tomorrow? Let's go shopping!"

Claude laughed a little. "I thought you'd want nothing but a good bed after that long journey."

"And you're absolutely right, for tonight anyway." She yawned again, with a bit more theatrics this time. "I'm going to bed now. Don't stay up too late, you two. See you tomorrow."

Hilda gave Ingrid a nod before she left. It took her a second too long to realise that she meant to give them some space, just for the two of them.

Claude put her hand on Ingrid's shoulder. "You should go to bed too. I can't imagine riding a pegasus for that long is any more comfortable than riding a wyvern."

"No, Claude, I..." Ingrid stopped when she saw Claude's face. Even though she tried to sound casual, he obviously still has something burdening him. His smile was only halfway gone; his expression was only halfway honest.

"I'm sorry," he said, still trying to put his smile back on, hiding the truth. "I dragged you all the way across the country and then I got you dragged into my family's problems."

"Huh? _No_. You don't have to apologize for anything." She pinched his arm. "Claude, you didn't drag me into anything. In fact, I'm grateful that you finally told me your story. And I'm grateful you brought me here to see your parents and your homeland."

Claude's smile was still on his face. "I'm glad to hear that. I was worried you won't take it that well."

Ingrid tiptoed and, slowly, slapped his cheek. "There's nothing for you to be worried about, Claude. I love you, whoever you really are or whatever baggage you're carrying. I trust you, so now I want you trust me. Wherever you go, whatever trouble you got yourselves into, I want to be there for you. So, Claude von Riegan, tell me, what is it that you're thinking _now_?"

Claude's smile disappeared, but the expression it left behind was an honest one. He glanced up at the stars for a moment, then he looked into Ingrid's eye. "The truth. The truth is I've always wanted to be king. I loved Azhar as my brother, but I knew he would never make what I want a reality. I want to be the king who unites Almyra, who breaks the walls between our people and all the people of the world, the king to build the bridge between this land and all the lands beyond.

"It will be difficult, and I... I was worried it'll be too much for you. I don't have the right to put a whole other country on your shoulder, a whole other country who might hate us at first glance, not after the war we have just gone through." He took a deep breath. "But, I do trust you, Ingrid. I..."

"Say it, Claude."

"Ingrid, if I am to be the King of Almyra, will you be my Queen?"

She pinched his arm then kissed him, long enough it felt like forever. After that the answer was clear, they both knew, but she said it out loud still, "I will, Claude. I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always think there's a discrepancy in the game with how Claude mentioned he wasn't "raised like a noble" even though he's clearly a prince. There's also that support with Cyril where he clearly tried to play the "I'm a prince" card. At first I just pegged it as Almyran nobility being very different from Fodlan, and I do imagine it being different, but I feel like there's more to that. 
> 
> So this is how I imagined his childhood was like: An unwanted prince.


	4. The City of Akhamenid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid, Claude, and Hilda went to the city, and things did not go as smoothly as they expected.

Ingrid woke up early the next morning, unable to shake off she habit she had built since childhood. Even here, where the bed was new, the clothes she was wearing was foreign, and even the sun outside felt different. Memories of last night drifted into her mind, of Claude's ambitions which were now her own. It had seemed big, at the time, but it was really so simple, as simple as a knight's creed: she was going to follow him and protect him and be there for him, wherever he decided to go.

She looked out the window. It overlooked the same courtyard they saw the night before, but it was much more alive now. Wyverns were flying up and about. Soldiers were sparring in the field. Over near the towering stable, she could see a white wyvern on the ground which she thought at first glance was Claude's, but no. The horns were longer and curved at their tip. The king's perhaps. Or, more likely, the queen's.

And then she was abruptly reminded of her own steed. There are no pegasus in Almyra, Claude had said. Would they know what to do with one? Did they even stable her correctly? _Oh goodness_. Ingrid made her way out her room quickly.

* * *

"Good morning, dear," said the Queen when Ingrid came by, on her way to the stable. The white wyvern was hers, and she was tending it by herself. She would be indistinguishable from the servants and soldiers around if not for her slightly neater clothes and her usual terrifying gaze.

They softened at Ingrid, but she still felt like a hair in the back of her head was standing up. "Hello, Your Highness," Ingrid replied.

"Oh don't bother with that kind of formality. Just call me Iva. How are you, dear?"

"Good. I slept well enough."

"And how is your new clothes fitting you? I figured you'll sweat like crazy wearing your usual armor here."

"It fits me well, thank you." Ingrid glanced down at her dress. The servants had put them in her room, along with instructions of which to wear. It was a different, lighter fabric than those she's used to. The fold in it was strange, but otherwise it was just a tunic and trousers. She had worried it was a man's clothing at first, but she realised the queen was wearing something similar, and that was good enough for her.

"So what brought you to the stable so early in the morning?" the Queen asked as she stroke her wyvern's head. "What I said last night didn't spook you that much, did it?"

"Oh, no, Your Highness, err, Iva? I'm just looking for my pegasus."

"Pegasus! So that's what's making the boys so rattled. Figured none of them has seen a winged horse in their entire life. Come on, I think they must have stabled it with the other horses."

The Queen let her wyvern to wander the yard on its own and led Ingrid to the stables. One the ground it looked no different at all from all the stables she's seen before, but above it rose up to six floors high, connected with circular wooden stairs. The horses on the ground floor did not seem to mind the screeches and wing flaps of the wyverns above. It was quite a sight, and Ingrid was already wondering if it was viable to use back in her homeland.

Her homeland. If she was marrying Claude, _this_ would be her home too.

Daphne was given enough space for two whole horses, enough for her to flap her wings. She was well-groomed, well-fed, although the girl who was tending to her seemed mildly terrified of her. The pegasus neighed and tried to sniff Ingrid's hair as she approached. 

"Hey, Daphne. Good morning. Yes girl, I'm glad you're okay too," Ingrid said to sooth her. Behind her, the Queen grabbed an apple from the trough outside and threw it at her. Ingrid caught it in time and handed to Daphne. "Here you go."

"A pegasus, huh. I haven't seen one of these in years," the Queen said. She pat the pegasus's nose as she munched on the apple. "Would be useful to have one of these in matches against the Morfis-trained warlock lords. Bet even they'll be impressed."

Something Claude said last night popped into Ingrid's mind. _My mother worked tooth and nail to get the Almyrans to accept her_. "Do you, umm, get into a lot of battles, Your Highness?" Ingrid asked.

"Oh just friendly matches with the lords. For the most part. Almyra has a long tradition of, how do I put this, mock warfare? Although some matches were less friendly than it might seem. Hmm." She seemed to be thinking of something else for a second. "Be honest with me, Ingrid, dear. What I said last night, _did_ it scare you?"

Ingrid's first instinct was to tell her that of course not, everything was fine, but she stopped herself. Here's a woman who has put up with Claude's half-smiles her entire life. "There seems to be a lot of things happening in Almyra, at the moment," she said, carefully. Then she added, "And what happened to your step-son, I'm sorry for your loss."

For a moment, the Queen seemed to be taken aback at her words. "Thank you, dear. I think that's the first time someone said that genuinely to my face before," she said, then her face hardened back to how it usually was. "Things are happening, yes but it's really just another pebble in this messy, _messy_ kingdom. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"Well, umm, I know when Claude proposed to me that he's not the kind of man who'll settle for an easy life," Ingrid said, trying her best to keep her voice calm. "Whatever comes, I'll just help him get through each one of them."

There was silence for a beat, and then the Queen let out a hearty laugh. "Hah! You're not wrong. My son is a troublesome one, isn't he? Well, I can rest easy handing the kingdom over to him if he has you on his side, I suppose."

"I... I think I still have a lot to learn about Almyra before you can do that, Your Highness!"

"Oh, yes, you really do. They'll eat you alive out there if I just throw you in." The Queen laughed again. "Do you have any plans for today, yet?"

"Ah, Hilda, Claude, and I were actually planning to see the city today. Claude said he didn't get to spend much of his childhood here."

There was a pause as the Queen seemed to think. "Hmm. He really didn't, poor kid. Well, go on, then. Have fun. But if tonight you're still up for an adventure," the Queen pat Ingrid's shoulder reassuringly, "come find me."

* * *

The climate difference between Faerghus and Almyra wasn't terribbly obvious in the morning. As the sun was climbing, however, and they no longer had the advantage of constant flight and the wind of the open field, Ingrid was more and more grateful for the light clothing she was wearing.

"Ooh, hath the Almyran sun defeated the valiant lady knight of Fodlan?" Claude chided.

She pinched him. "This knight still has a lot of fight left in her."

They were walking around in the central market square of the City of Akhamenid. It was every bit as colourful as Claude had described, its many stalls filled with everything from crops and foodstuffs to dyes and clothes in all manners of colours. The music that drifted through the air was foreign, a slow combination of percussion and string that Ingrid had never heard before. The languages spoken by the people buying and selling around her used familiar words, but spoken in a way that was strange to her ears.

Even dressed the same as the people in the city, Ingrid felt a bit out of place. Everyone she saw has brown skin and dark hair, their eyes orange, yellow, or crimson. They looked like Cyril, or Nadir, or, she realised, like Claude. She felt conspicuous with her blonde hair and light skin, and she was acurely aware of how eyes tend to linger on her as she passed by.

Hilda didn't seem to care, despite her bright pink hair standing out. She went quickly from one stall to another, admiring mainly the many jewelries and colored silk on display. When people asked her about her hair or makeup, she was quick to make a conversation.

Ingrid, on the other hand, was too nerous to even ask for a sample of any of the varieties of food on display.

"Something bothering you?" Claude asked. He looked entirely in his element, with his long Almyran-style tunic.

"Oh no. I'm just dazzled by the range of culinary arts on display here." She looked away and found her eyes caught by a buiding by the side of the road. Part of the wall was open, revealing piles of bread loaves. The smell was enough to make her mouth water, and the idea of finding shelter from the Almyran sun appealed to her. Ingrid tugged at Claude's sleeves. "Let's go check that place out."

The inside of the bakery was more impressive than the outside, as far as Ingrid was concerned. Rows and rows of bread of all shapes and sizes, with fillings and toppics from every food imaginable. Some of them were familiar to her, but Ingrid decided to be a little more adventurous. She chose what seemed to be a flat bread topped with minced meat and herbs. 

The baker who was running the shop seemed as delighted to serve her as he did to anyone else, which was a relief. He looked up from the dough he was beating to take Ingrid's money.

"Ah, welcome, good lady. That would be five copper pieces, please," he said with the strange flowing accent Ingrid had associated with Almyrans.

She gave the man the coins and took a seat on one of the chairs set in front of the table he was working on. She took a bite out of his bread. It was savory but strangely refreshing.

"You're not from around here are you, my lady? Travelling?" the man asked as he returned to his bread.

"Rather obvious isn't it?" Ingrid said amidst her bites.

"Are you, by any chance, from Fodlan?"

Ingrid was afraid of the question, but the way the man had asked the question, and the way he was smiling, it didn't feel hostile. "I am, yes," she answered. "I'm sorry. I heard Fodlanese aren't very welcome in Almyra."

"Oh, no! Please, don't feel like you're not welcome in our country! Open trade with Fodlan has brought nothing but good for my suply chain. Our good Queen also came from Fodlan, do you know that? And we all adore her." He paused a bit to roll the dough he'd been working on. "Although, I admit there may be people who feel differently. I hope you did not come here alone?"

"I'm actually here with my fiancée. He's… he's from Almyra, and we're getting married here."

"Married! How nice!" His eyes lit up. "Why, that makes you family to all of us! Is your husband-to-be here?"

Ingrid gestured at Claude, who was admiring some of the bread on the shelf. The baker seemed to only nod at first, but then his expression changed. He let go of the bread in his hand, his eyes wide.

When Claude finally looked away from the bread and came over to Ingrid, the baker looked like he was going to have a heart attack.

"Shahzada, is that you?" he mumbled. "Shahzada Claude?"

Claude didn't seem to recognize him at first, but then his eyes opened wide. "Dara?"

The man laughed and gave him a hug, which Claude seemed to accept much more readily than he did his father's. "Shahzada Claude! It has been too long! Far too long! I was afraid I'll never be see you again, little prince."

"It _has_ been too long!" Claude replied. "How many years has it been? Ten?"

"You were a wee boy when I last seen you. Look at you now, Shahzada. A man. You've even grown a beard." He looked at Ingrid. "And getting married? Surely you did not forget to tell Uncle Dara about this?"

"Oh no, believe me, Uncle. You'll be the first to know." He shifted his feet a bit. "We haven't made the plans, honestly. We're still in schock about Azhar."

"Ah, of course." The baker put his hand on his heart and whispered what sounded like a prayer. "The Kingdom weep at his lost. May he find peace in the great beyond. But, Shahzada, we have heard that he was murdered by a warlord from the South. Is this true?"

"My mother said it was in a battle, but we have no idea how fair it was." Claude shook his head. "But let's not talk about something so unpleasant yet. I haven't introduced you to my wife-to-be!" He turned to Ingrid. "Ingrid, this is Dara. He's… he is one of the people in the city who was nice to me, when I was little."

Ingrid nodded. "Pleased to meet you," she said, even though deep down she was feeling like she was interrupting a reunion. This was one more of Claude's childhood that he'd spent so long hiding. Claude had sounded different when he spoke to Dara, his Almyran accent thicker, something that didn't happen even when he was talking to his father last night.

After finishing her flatbread, Ingrid decided to give the men some time for themselves. "I'm going to go see what Hilda's up to. I'll let you two catch up to old times."

"Oh, yes." Claude said. He kissed her cheek as she stood up. "Thanks," he whispered. "Be careful, alright? I'll be here if you need me."

* * *

Ingrid almost regretted leaving the moment she stepped out of the bakery and was assaulted by the sun. A baby wyvern cried overhead, and when she looked up she saw a flock of them, each barely larger than a human child, flitting from one rooftop to another. Around her, the market still carried on as always, full of people.

In theory looking for Hilda should be easy. She was, after all, a pink-haired Fodlanese in the sea of the dark-haired Almyrans. But in practice, everything is a blur in a market as large and lively as this. Ingrid tried to focus beyond the colored silk on dispay, of the food and flowers and paintings, of the sun reflected on glasses.

There. A blur of pink. Ingrid tried to get closer, shifting through the crowd, but Hilda seemed to get further and further away. She called her name, but she didn't once look her way. The pink hair went down the stairs and as Ingrid got closer, she realised what was happening. There were two large men pulling her along, one of them dragging her by the arm and the other on her back, one hand seemed to hold over her mouth. They moved quickly down the road, away from the crowded market.

Thinking fast, Ingrid grabbed a pole from a nearby stall. Ignoring the seller's cry of protest, she used it to open a way to the edge of the crowd where she could run faster down the road. Just as Hilda and the two men were disappearing down a dark alley, she used a crate to jump up to one of the walls that surrounded them, leaped off it, smacked the man up front on her way down, and landed in the alley right in front of the three.

"Let her go!"she yelled, brandishing the pole as she would a lance.

Hilda's eyes were wide with surprise and amazement. The man behind her had a good hold on her hands and her mouth, preventing her from fighting back. The man Ingrid had knocked was still on the ground, though he quickly got up, blurting out a string of thickly-accented words she guessed were expletives.

"_Well well, what is this? Beaten down by a sandskin?_" Someone called out from behind her. The way the man up front was sneering at the voice, Ingrid had no doubt that it was yet another man she was going to have to beat.

The man up front pulled out a dagger from his pocket and thrust it forward, but Ingrid was faster. She dodged out of the way and strike again with her pole, knocking the man down again. At the same time, the man behind her was launching himself forward to deliver a punch. Ingrid countered his arm with her pole and used his momentum to let him crash into the wall.

They got up soon enough, and, yelling unintelligible expletives, attacked again. Ingrid felt her old reflexes waking up, the nerves she had trained during years of war. These thugs were tough, but they were nothing compared to what she used to deal with everyday. She would have rained death on them if they weren't so pathetic.

From the corner of her eyes, he saw the man holding Hilda down getting more and more nervous. He let go of her mouth to reach for a knife in his pocket, which was a mistake. Hilda used the opportunity to kick him, loosening his hold, and then she punched him and threw him to the ground. Even amidst the fighting, Ingrid could tell the fire was back in Hilda's eye. Lazy she might be, but Ingrid knew that in a battle Hilda was not one to mess with.

"Aww, thanks for saving me, Ingrid," Hilda said as they stood back to back, facing the men.

"Don't mention it," Ingrid said as she moved to strike again.

"Hate to tire myself out like this, but I guess there's no helping it, huh?"

More people appeared from the dark end of the alley, but they were no trouble for the two ladies. They strike and punched and dodged. There were shoutings, but far too rapid-fire for Ingrid to understand. Someone managed to cut at Ingrid's cheek, but she barely noticed before she cracked the pole at her assailant, reducing them to a writhing mess on the floor.

And then all of a sudden there were just the two of them left standing in the alley. Some of the men were sprawled on the floor. Some had ran away, going deeper down into the dark. One of the men on the floor got up, though the way he was holding his leg showed that he was no longer any threat. "You dirty sandskin bastards," he spat. "You'll…you'll..."

Ingrid aimed the pole at his head. "_Never_ mess with us again!"

He seemed like he was about to say something, but then he looked past her and his face changed. After one look of disgust, he turned around and limped back down the alley.

"Psst, hey Ingrid," Hilda whispered to Ingrid, tapping her shoulder. "Look over here."

Ingrid turned around, and what she saw surprised her. There was a small crowd of people watching them from the entrance of the alley. Most of them were children, but some were adults who seemed to have just passed by an stumbled on them. Ingrid gave them a wry smile and a small bow, and after a beat, they cheered. Some of the kids rushed in and almost swamped Hilda and Ingrid.

"That was _so_ cool!" one of the said.

"Where'd you learn to use a stick like that, lady?"

"Why does your hair have the same colour as a flower?" another asked, touching Hilda's hair.

"I want to be able to fight like that too!"

Hilda seemed to revel in all the attention. She crouched down to their level and let the one kid twirl with her hair. "Aww, shucks. You saw all that? You're making me blush." 

It was a bit of a work to usher all the children and out of the alleyway and back into the street. The kids talked incessantly as they did, and Hilda seemed entirely pleased to humour them. Ingrid, on the other hand, felt more exhausted than ever. Fighting, she understood, but being heralded as heroes by children was not something she know how to deal with.

"That was a fantastic display, misses," one of the few adults said as they made their way out. The street they were on was mostly empty save for the crowd that were surrounding them now.

"Ya, I've never seen something like that."

"I saw when you ran over here with that pole, but I didn't expect you were going to use it that way."

"I wish my son can fight as well as you did."

Being heralded as heroes by adults felt even more bizarre. A young lady was almost kidnapped by thugs down a dark alley, and the thing they pay attention to the most was the fight that ensued? They didn't think it a bad influence either to let the kids watch them?

"Miss, is that pole not mine?"

Ingrid whirled around at that voice and met face to face with a tall dark-haired woman, maybe only slightly older than she was. She remembered her annoyed voice from her mad dash to catch up with Hilda.

"Ah! I'm so sorry." Ingrid hastily handed the pole back.

The woman looked unamused as she examined it. "Hmm. That's the fastest anyone has worn down my brooomstick, even before I added the broom."

"I'm very sorry. I'll pay for it."

"Ukhti, are you really going to make her pay after showing such a fine performance?" one of the men asked.

"A fine performance can't conjure wood out of nothing, akhi," the woman said, though she didn't look too annoyed.

"Have you two ladies had something to eat?" the man asked. "Unlike the grumpy lady here, we'd love to treat anyone who put up such a fine show, even sandskins like you."

"Don't say sandskin, akhi. That's rude," one of the other men said.

Ingrid remembered the thugs had called them that, amidst other less-recognizable expletives. "What does that word mean?"

"I'm sorry, miss, it's not a very polite word. It used to mean the people from the west, but we don't use it no more."

The other man snorted. "Well, it's not _wrong_, is it? Their skin is white like sand and they are brittle like sand. Though these two here did put up a fine performance even with their sandskin."

Ingrid suddenly had an urge to slap the man, even though she knew it will do no good. But before she could do it, a pole suddenly fell down and smacked the man square on his head. The broomseller woman who held it looked as annoyed as she was. "That's enough, akhi. Don't be rude to travellers. They're the ones who pay for your wares, you know." She turned to Ingrid. "The two of you _are_ from the West, though, are you? That land beyond the Western Mountain?"

_Western Mountain._ That must be Fodlan's Throat. "We're from Fodlan, yes."

"What brought you here? We don't see a lot of traders from that far west in Akhamenid."

"Ah, we are-"

Hilda suddenly came up behind her, apparently having appeased all the children who were swarming her. She grinned and hugged Ingrid's shoulder. "My friend here is going to marry your prince!"

There was a noticeable pause, and then the people started to murmur with each other. 

"Prince? But didn't Prince Azhar die?"

"Do you think one of the lords are going to take his place?"

"Why would they bring a sandskin here for? Are they desperate?"

The woman with the broomstick was silent amidst all the gossipings. She just stood there, watching Ingrid and Hilda for a while. And then she smiled, as if reaching a sudden insight. She tapped her stick on the ground, loud enough for the few men to shut up and look at her.

She asked, with a voice that was a bit more like a declaration, "So. You're the one bringing the outsider prince back from the West, then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote an outline for the entire story and things go that way this will take about 11-12 chapters. This story tends to go off on its own though, so that might change. I've also started giving each chapter a title, which I hope will be helpful with more chapters incoming.
> 
> This chapter is a bit harder to write as 1) I'm not very good at writing fight scenes!, 2) It's kinda difficult finding a good pace for this, for some reason. I hope it's still interesting to read! 
> 
> I considered making Almyrans speak a different language at first. After all, Brigid speaks a different language and it's relatively closer to Fodlan. But then I gotta drop it because, I confess!, it'll be too difficult to write. 
> 
> If my amateur research hours went well, "Shahzada" means roughly "child of the king"; it's a title for the prince in some historical central asian societies. Please correct me if that sounds silly.
> 
> Edit 2019/11/29: No update this week. Need a break from writing. If I'm not back by next week, please poke me in the comments. Knowing people read this is a huge motivator.


	5. Any Excuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a long time since Claude was last in this city.

Claude had thought that he'd be in Fodlan for good, that his distant past in Almyra would just be that: a distant past, no matter how formative it was. He didn't mind being Duke Riegan; the position fit him like a glove. He could even claim the title of King of Fodlan and no one would bat an eye. The war might be hell, but it was the perfect ground to garner respect and legitimacy. The people listened to him and respected him and believed in him as the leader who would bring them the peace they needed. There were still whispers of his origins, of course, but they were whispers in the dark, not gossips in the open.

But he wasn't in Fodlan anymore.

Azhar was dead; he still didn't know what to think of it. His father needed him. The land, the one filled with people so hostile to him, needed him. And he couldn't refuse the call, if for no other reason than because it was home, it had always been home, in a way that Fodlan never managed to be.

The realization only hit him now, as he was sitting down with Dara, the only adult his child self had ever trusted. Around him was the familiar scent of home, of Dara's homemade Almyran bread, of the light of the Almyran sun, the distant melodies of Almyran music. He had never thought of the City of Akhamenid as home, but he felt more at home here than he ever did Garreg Mach or Derdriu or anywhere else in Fodlan.

"Shahzada," Dara was saying as he came back from the back with two cups of tea. He put them on the table in front of Claude. "It is good to see you home again."

"It is good to be back," Claude said, lied. Was it a lie? He took a sip from his cup, tasting the familiar pine needles in the tea, a specialty of Almyra.

"Shahzada," Dara begun. "This question might be too soon after you've lost your brother but, with Prince Azhar gone, will you take the throne, then?"

"Of course I will," Claude answered. "I can't risk the Kingdom being torn apart by a succesion crisis. I won't run away from this."

Dara nodded. "That is good to hear. Although, if I may be so bold to question it, your choice of a wife might make it more difficult."

"I love Ingrid," Claude said, looking down at his cup of tea. "She's stronger than she looks. We can get through this."

Dara took a sip off his cup. "It's rare for you to be so bold on confidence alone, Shahzada."

Claude sighed. "I need more information, Uncle. I've been out of the country for, what, six years? Seven? What have the lords been up to? What have _Azhar_? And how come one of our own has allied with a Southern Khan?"

"You were a child when you left," Dara said, his face worried. "The situation in Almyra might be more complicated than you might have thought. You should take your time."

"Dara, I led a _war_ back in Fodlan. I know what that takes. If I need to, I'll lead another one here." He shook his head. "But it doesn't have to come to that. If I can bring this Lord Marduk down, it'll be enough to show Almyra I have what it takes. They won't deny I have rights to the throne. I _am_ my father's son." He took a sip off his tea. "And if the Southern Khans continue to be a threat, that'll just be reason for the lords to rally under me."

Dara shifted the cup about in his hand. "You've really grown, have you, my prince? When you were a child, you told me all you wanted was to be able to hold a feast every day." He sighed. "Even here in Akhamenid, we've heard snippets of the war that happened in Fodlan. Years of not just fighting, but also of the gods themselves laying waste on the battlefields. It sounded like a gruesome fairy tale, even when told by our warriors. Was it so, Shahzada?"

Claude wasn't sure how to answer to that.

"Please, don't be reckless. I do not think it's best for you to go from one war into another so quickly. We're not in danger as long as your father the Shah is still alive. Take your time." After a pause, he added, "And please, give yourself time to grieve."

Claude sighed and finished his tea. He got up from his seat, "I should look for Ingrid. Thank you for your time, Uncle."

* * *

Not a lot of people recognized him on the streets, which suited Claude just fine. There were the occasional glances and whispers, of course, but even that was more common when he was walking with Ingrid and Hilda, the clear foreigners. Now he could weave through the market like a commoner, taking the occasional casual look at the wares for sale.

The market was familiar, but to his surprise, even the city itself was not foreign to him. Vague memories of running through them, of jumping from rooftops to rooftops, of skirting its narrow alleys, played in his mind. Now he saw children doing the same, laughing with each other. Most of the running he did was _away_ from other people, or towards one nasty revenge scheme or another, but there was something familiar in the games the children play with each other. He must had friends here when he was young, ephemeral as that friendship was. He wondered if any of his old friends were still around.

But first he needed to find Ingrid and Hilda.

He heard the murmurs before he stumbled on the crowd. "_Prince Claude_?" someone was saying. "The outsider prince?" said another.

It wasn't a particularly big crowd, about the size that might form when there was a fight of some sort. Claude couldn't quite see who it was they were gathered around, but he heard their murmurs alright.

"Prince Claude is back?"

"Wait, we have another prince?"

_You bet you do._ Even not knowing what was going on, his mind was whirling with plans. Some of these don't know or don't remember who he is. There's still a way to win them over.

And then he saw the people at the center of attention and he couldn't help smiling.

"Ingrid! Hilda! There you are!" he said as he wade through the crowd, already parting at his voice.

There was a spark in Ingrid's eyes when she saw him. "Claude!" she whispered.

He wrapped his arm around her and gave her a reassuring smile before turning to the crowd. "Brothers! Sisters! Please, allow me to introduce myself! My name is Claude bin Roshan Al-Kamir, son of the Shah and next to the throne. I see you've met my wife-to-be. This is Ingrid, the finest knight from the West."

He made sure his voice was loud enough for the people at the back, commanding yet casual enough that no one will question it, but will absolutely talk about it. And sure enough, they were talking about it. The crowd went wild with their gossips. More people who heard him joined into the crowd.

Claude took the moment to whisper to Ingrid, "Are you alright? What happened?"

"I... Well..." She looked somewhat embarassed.

"Ingrid saved my life, Claude!" Hilda whispered excitedly. "There were these thugs who were trying to kidnap me, but then Ingrid ran after me and smacked them and then we both showed them what for. And I guess there were people watching?"

Ingrid spoke up, "I was just trying to get those thugs away. I dind't expect the people here would be so enthusiastic about, well, violence."

"Oh you have no idea," Claude said. "Nothing impress us more than a good fight." He took a moment to think about it. "But, let me get this straight. There were people trying to kidnap you? In broad daylight?"

"That's what they did," Hilda replied. "They called us something. What was it, _sandskin_?"

"Oof. That's not a good word to throw around."

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a man yelling over the crowd, "How do we know you're really a prince?"

The crowd went quiet for a second, which the man took as an opportunity to yell out some more, "The Shah only have one true-born son, and he died honourably in battle! Who are you to take his place?"

_Ah, there's always one of these people._ Claude measured out his voice when he replied, "Prince Azhar was my brother by blood and friendship. Believe me, no one mourn for him more than the king, queen, and I. His place in our lives is irreplaceable, but we are Almyrans, are we not? We don't dwell on our dead. It is for the living that we carry on. I, too, will do my best to move forward, for the people of Almyra."

He smiled at the crowd, a practiced smile. "But look at the time. It's almost midday, is it not? I'm sure you're all hungry! I heard you've all seen a good show just recently. I propose a little celebration for what my wife-to-be has accomplished here!"

There was a cheer from the crowd, enough to drown out the dissenting voices. Claude took Ingrid's hand and walked down the street, his pose and stride practiced like a leader leading his people. The crowd followed after them in a cheerful drove.

He felt Ingrid's hand tightening, saw the smile on her face, one that hadn't entirely masked her bewilderment. She was going to have to mask a whole lot more than just that, he realised, to be able to stand next to him. Can she do that? Can he let her do that? He hated, suddenly, the idea of taking her away from one war only to take part in another one, even in a different form.

"Claude, it's okay," he heard Ingrid whispering, as if sensing his thoughts. "I'm fine. We can do this."

* * *

Claude remembered how quickly the small towns and camps at the plains would fall at any excuse for festivities, but he didn't expect the same would happen to a big city such as this. Once their intent was clear, the market seemed to shift to accomodate them. The musicians congregated at the market square, the food sellers hustled and made plates after plates of meals, not even bothering to charge the crowd for the service yet. The vendors rearranged their stalls and their wares, giving them a big enough space at the market center to gather. Someone pulled out a carpet and spread them out, giving the people somewhere to sit, cross-legged, with the plates of food spread out around them.

The people cheered and laughed and ate as they gossiped about everything, seemingly happy to take any excuse to celebrate. The kids run around and hold games of their own making. Some of them had started brandishing broomsticks and various pole-sized objects as if recreating the fighting scene that Claude had missed.

And he was at the center of it all, of course, keeping the coversations going, the drinks refilled, and convincing the food vendors that all would be paid for. Ingrid sat next to him, slowly devouring her way through the feast. Her excitement at the food, at least, was truthful. People, children mostly, came and poked her and asked her questions or congratulated her, and she seemed more comfortable talking while half everyone's attention was at the food.

No one asked about who the people she had beaten were. No one had came forward with clues. No one would bring that up while they're celebrating. He'd have to find out about the people trying to kidnap Hilda some other way.

"Having fun?" Claude asked Ingrid during a downtime when he didn't need to steer the crowds' conversation so much.

"Oh, yes! But, this all seems a bit excessive, isn't it? All this just for us fighting a couple of thugs?"

"Nah, don't worry about it. See how quickly they set everything up? They're looking for any excuse to start a feast."

"Hmm. And for someone to pay for all the food, I imagine."

Claude grinned. "I'm sure my father has enough in the royal treasury to spare."

Someone called from the edge of the crowd. "Prince Claude?"

It was the woman who was with Ingrid when he found her, the one who had the pole that Ingrid had used to fight the thugs. She scooted past the laughing man and took a a seat in front of them. She bowed her head in greeting. "I don't suppose you still remember me, do you, _Prince_?"

Claude racked her brain. She was about their age, although maybe slightly older. She had long wavy hair that covered both her ears. The look in her eyes were scathing, but tired, empty, even. Her skin was as dark as any Almyrans. No he did not remember her. "I'm sorry, I don't think I do, Ukhti. But Ingrid here had told me of how your tools had helped her. For that, I thank you."

"You can thank me by buying my wares, _prince_, but that's not why I'm here. Does this remind you of anything?" She parted the hair that was covering her right ear, and what was hidden there shot up unpleasant memories in Claude's head. Her right ear was torn in half, and although the years had healed them, it still left an ugly jagged marks at the edge of the wound.

Claude remembered the nasty laughter of an eleven year old girl, three years his senior and strong enough to throw him into the sewer, calling him names and inviting the other kids to do the same. He remembered the scalding, burning poison he had poured from the cracks on the roof, and the scream afterwards.

"Zahra?" Claude said, the name as fresh in her head as the memory.

She nodded. "It's nice of you to remember me, _Prince_."

"I am so sorry for what I did to you."

She shrugged. "Please, we were children. I had years to think about it, and I can't say I didn't deserve it." She brushed her hair back in place, hiding her deformed ear. "But I'm not here to talk about our childhood. There's something more important I want to discuss."

Claude tried to brush the memory aside. "Which is?"

"Do you know how Az- Prince Azhar died?"

There was familiarity in the way she almost said his name. Claude noted it, and chose his words carefully, "My mother the Queen said he died in battle with one of the warlords from the south."

"In battle, was it? That's one way to put it." She scoffed. Her eyes grew serious, and she whispered, "If I may say, my _prince_, Lord Marduk is _not_ someone you want to keep around when you become king. He has to be taken down."

Claude narrowed his eyes. "What do you know about him?"

"That man is seeking the downfall of Almyra. Prince Azhar was a man respected by the city and by the lords of the kingdom. Some of us thought he was immortal. To, to take his head was a deliberate blow to us all."

Zahra was keeping her calm, but Claude could feel something cracking beneath her composure. He said to her, "Zahra, are you concerned for our country, or is it vengeance you're looking for?"

She glared at him. "And is vengeance _not_ what you're looking for, my _prince_? He was your blood brother. It's the least you can do for him." She got up from her seat, her eyes looking away. "That is all I have to say for now. I'll take my leave now."

She went away quicker than Claude could form the questions in his mind. He sighed and looked at the food on his plate. Something Dara had said echoed in his mind, _Give yourself time to mourn_.

"Claude?" Ingrid called from next to him. "What that woman said..."

"Let's not worry about that now," Claude said, snapped, almost. "We still have a celebration to enjoy."

* * *

Cleaning up afterwards took a bit more time than starting the festivities. The kids were gone, giggling as they ran away to the alleys and rooftops, leaving the adults to deal with their aftermath. Plates were collected and cleaned, the carpets rolled back, dirt swept away. The trio from Fodlan was among those who helped, even as Hilda complained endlessly about it.

"Claaaude, aren't you royalty? Can't you just get someone else to do this?"

"I'm not the king yet, Hilda." Claude laughed. "And lords are expected to lend a hand in the mess that they started, and this one I definitely did start."

Hilda had pouted a lot, but even she relented when she saw a gaggle of children watching her from the alcoves. They were cheering for her as she hoisted a heavy roll of carpet on her shoulder, and she couldn't help putting a good show for the little devils.

Soon enough, the market square was clean and the people started to disperse, although not before giving him their thanks and well wishes. There were a lot less hostility than he had expected, and the people were moderately respectful towards Ingrid and Hilda, which surprised Claude. There were whispers, there were always whispers, but no one had dared called him a sandskin to his face, which was an improvement over the hazy memories he had of all those years ago.

He had hoped to talk to Zahra again, after the party was over, but she was nowhere to be found.

It was getting late, and Hilda was either getting tired or faking enough fatigue that it was a good enough reason to call it a day. Claude held Ingrid's hand as they made their way back to the palace.

"So, Ingrid," Claude started. "What do you think of the city?"

Ingrid seemed flustered for a second, but not unhappy. "Oh, dear. Where to begin? I feel completely lost. There's so many things I have to learn. So many customs. So many words you use here that we don't use back in Fodlan."

"And so many food too, right?"

Ingrid smiled. "Mmm. That, I think I will ejoy learning." She jabbed at his arm. "You aren't going to criticise my appetite, are you?"

"Oh, no no no! I think it's great that you're liking the food here. My father will be _delighted_ to have a woman with an actual taste bud in the house. My mother never appreciate our culinary arts, you know."

Ingrid chuckled. "Your mother is missing out."

The walk home was uneventful, although he did notice more eyes drawn towards them. He could imagine the things they were whispering. The prince is back and he brought a foreign wife with him, or something like that. A _badass_ foreign wife, he hoped. If they could respect his mother, they'd respect Ingrid, would they?

As soon as they arrived at the palace grounds, Hilda declared he was going to use the bath as soon as possible.

Claude laughed and chided her, "Lemme guess, your delicate skin can't handle so much attack from the Almyran summer."

"Ugh! It's like I'm being boiled aliiive," Hilda said in mock exaggeration. "Why did we have to eat outside and sit on the ground? Can't we just have the feast indoors or something?"

"Oh, no, Hilda. Even a prince, I'm powerless against a hundred years of tradition."

Hilda laughed and stalked off indoors. Ingrid, however, still stood by his side, seemingly lost in thought.

"You can take a bath too. There's no shame in admitting you're being defeated by the sun, you know. The sun's been up there longer than the kingdoms have been around."

"Oh, hah. I'm not beaten yet." She shaded her eyes and look up. "But, Claude, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"And what will that be?"

She turned to him. "What that woman said to you, about Lord Marduk and your brother."

Claude sighed. "I don't know what relations she had to either of them. I wish she didn't run off when I confront her about it."

"I think she's a lot closer to your brother than she wants to let on. She wanted to take Lord Marduk down to avenge him, nothing more."

Clauded nodded. "Yes, that's what I thought too. It's why I can't take what she said at face-value."

"But, Claude, is that also what you want?" Ingrid said, slowly. "Avenging your brother?"

_Give yourself time to mourn_, Dara had said, and Claude realised he had no idea how to answer the question. He never knew how to mourn, had never lost anyone close to him before. The only friends he'd lost were those whose life he had taken himself during the war in Fodlan, and by that time they weren't friends anymore. They were mere soldiers in a battlefield of a thousand more. Numbers on a tactical board. So many people die in a war.

And Azhar? Azhar was his brother. Was vengeance what he should want for him?

"I don't know," Claude answered, honestly.

"I won't blame you if you want to avenge him," Ingrid said. "But, Claude, I want you to know, vengeance is never a good reason for anything. Vengeance was what fueled Prince Dimitri during the war in Fodlan, and it didn't go well for him."

Claude remembered. After five years of war, they met again during the Battle of Gronder Field. Dimitri then was more a beast than a prince, filled with so much rage at the Adrestian Emperor that he killed everyone in his path. It was a horrible day for all of them.

"And, it's what blinded me to the people of Duscur," Ingrid went on. "Have I told you about Glenn?"

"Only in passing. He was the man you loved when you were young. He was killed in the Tragedy of Duscur."

Ingrid nodded. "After he died, I hold so much hate for the people of Duscur, I start thinking of them less than human." She looked away as she continued, "It embarasses me now, standing next to you, ever thinking of a group of people that way. But that's what I thought at the time. I supported the destruction of the Duscur people, all because I wanted to avenge his death. It's something I still regret to this day."

She sighed. Her hand tightened on his, and then she turned back to him. "But I know you're better than that, Claude. Be better than that. Don't let your brother's passing make you reckless. Don't make vengeance your sole goal."

"I'll try," he said, instinctively. And then, giving it more thought, making a shelf in his head space specifically for that, he said it again with more honesty, "_I'll try._"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting into Claude's head has been a bit difficult but also really interesting. I started this chapter from Ingrid's perspective, but then I realise that I can convey a lot more from Claude's. A lot that happened in this chapter wasn't even in my outline. It just kinda grew and wrote itself, giving me more materials I hadn't planned for. Sometimes that just happen, huh. Writing stories is fun.
> 
> I wanted to have a one-chapter-a-week update schedule, but uhh, apparently I'm at that part in my life where I can write whole pages and then throw them away and rewrite them again and again. I'm still very excited to continue this, but update is going to be a bit slow.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Seriously, thank you.


End file.
